And it turns downright euphoric when he actually puts his lips to my skin and sucks at the sensitive flesh. His mouth lingers there, sucking and kissing, even occasionally drifting up and brushing against the hem of my panties.
It’s heaven and hell. Delicious and painful. And the throb that’s taken up residence between my thighs grows so intense I shift my hips a little to try to ease the pressure.
But it’s useless. I’m fucking turned on. Insanely turned on, actually. I want Flynn to keep kissing me, touching me, licking me, but I want him to do it everywhere. All at the same time.
“It’s good,” he says and lifts his mouth off my skin. “But I know it’s no match for your sweet-as-fuck pussy.”
Oh boy.
His hands slide up my thighs, over the material of my bunched-up skirt and the fabric of my silk blouse. His fingers linger over my nipples, and I have to swallow the urge to moan.
Eventually, both of his hands are gently holding my face, and our gazes are locked as we search each other’s eyes.
“What are you going to do to me, Flynn?” I ask, hopeful that all this cake-batter tasting is actually foreplay that leads to something a little more hands-on…me.
“First, I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and then, after a few soft brushes of his mouth against mine, he does.
His kiss is sweet like cake yet spicy like sex. It’s gentle but demanding, and I want it to go on forever. But it doesn’t. The instant he pulls away, my lips turn down at the corners. Flynn notices, but the heat in his eyes tells me that he has plans.
“And then, Daisy, I’m going to take you to bed,” he tells me and runs his hands through my hair. “I’m going to remove your clothes, and I’m going to kiss every fucking inch of you. Especially that birthmark that sits on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass.”
The fact that he knows about that birthmark hits me square in the chest.
“I’m going to kiss your breasts and lick your nipples,” he continues. “And I’ll probably stay there for a while. An hour, maybe two, because I’m obsessed with memorizing how every part of you works.”
His hands move from my hair and slide down my arms until his hand gently grazes the apex of my thighs. “Once I’m done with your breasts, I’m going to do the same thing to your pussy. Lick it, taste it, eat it. And I’m not going to stop until you’re begging for my cock.
“And by the time I spread your legs and slide inside you, I’m camping out there for the rest of the night. Until I can’t hold back from filling you with my come. Can I do that, Daisy?” he asks and brushes his lips across mine. “Can I take you to bed?”
I don’t have to think about my answer.
“Yes.” I wrap my legs around his waist and my arms around his neck. “Please.”
With his lips to mine again, he kisses me slowly, lazily even, and the unbaked cake batter is a forgotten memory as Flynn carries me out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. And once my back hits the mattress, he removes my clothing.
Each piece that leaves my skin is a teasing reminder of his words that are now replaying in my mind on a loop. And every cell in my body is anticipating what’s to come.
I am at his mercy, completely naked and undeniably wanton for everything he has to give. His blue eyes blaze as he stares down at me, and I watch in rapt fascination as he removes his clothes. My eyes don’t miss the way his muscles flex with each precise movement or the fact that his cock is already hard, already ready to be inside me.
“You’re so beautiful, Daisy,” Flynn whispers as he climbs on the bed until his body hovers over mine.
So are you.
And then, always a man of his word, Flynn does all the things he said he’d do.
First, my mouth. My neck and shoulders. The curve of my back.
Then every inch of my skin.
And by the time he slides inside me, I am so overwhelmed with need I can’t see straight. All I can do is show him with desperate, greedy hands against his skin that I want more. That I want everything he has to give.
It’s sweet and slow but passionate and deep. It’s everything I want and everything I didn’t know I needed.
And it’s dangerously addictive.
So addictive that you don’t want this to end.
Saturday, May 11th
Daisy
I wake up to Flynn’s side of the bed empty, the sounds of the shower running in the bathroom, and every muscle in my body reminding me of the dirty, wicked, ah-may-zing things Flynn did to me mere hours ago.
I swear, I’m never going to hear the song “All Night Long” the same again.
Thoughts of last night flood my mind.
Flynn kissing my neck and shoulders and my breasts. His tongue lapping and sucking at my nipples. His face between my legs. His big, strong body hovering over mine as he slid inside me. All the things he whispered into my ear.
The way his blue eyes caught fire every time moans would spill from my lips.
The way he was gentle but deliciously rough at the same time.
Damn, the man is a stallion with a wicked mouth and a big penis. Are you sure you don’t want him to be your real husband?
I roll my eyes at myself and shift my focus to waking up.
Hands over my head and toes pointed away from my body, I stretch out my arms and legs beneath the comforter. My muscles are sore and a bit achy, but it’s the good kind of discomfort. The one that serves as a delicious reminder of last night.
Once I’m out of bed, I grab my favorite fluffy robe from the closet and stop dead in my tracks when I catch my reflection in the mirror.
Are those hickeys on my boobs? And my freaking thighs?
Fingers to my skin, I tap at the bruised flesh and deduce that they are, in fact, hickeys. But why I smile over that truth is something I don’t understand. Normally, I’d be a bit ticked off if a man marked me like this, but being marked by Flynn with a bunch of hickeys? I don’t know what I am, but it’s not mad.
Because you l-o-v-e love it, you little floozy.
Okay, fine. So what if I like the idea of Flynn marking me? Pretty sure any woman would love a man like him giving their body that much attention.
A little niggle of discomfort sets up residence in my chest, and I write it off as another sign of my sex hangover. I’m probably a little dehydrated. Maybe even low on blood sugar, too.
Uh-huh. Sure, that’s all it is…
Instead of marinating in my brain’s early morning absurdity, I tie my robe around my naked body and pad into the kitchen. Once I start a pot of coffee—caffeine first, then water and food—I locate my phone where I left it on the counter, moments before Flynn’s and my cake baking turned to insanely hot sex.
Though, before I start to check for missed notifications, I don’t miss the fact that Flynn has already managed to clean up our mess from last night. Come to find out, the more time I spend living with him, the more I realize that Flynn Winslow is a man who cleans up after himself.
He’s like a unicorn of men. But minus the horn and sparkles.
Oh, but he has a horn. And it’s hella big and sits smack-dab between his legs.